Wednesday, August 14, 2013

hand meet hospital

I am writing this post as we wait for SB to get stitches put into his hand (again) due to another kitchen accident.  Last week he broke a couple of dishes and burned himself but at least it's been a year since the last visit to the Accident and Emergency ward.  I am praying that he won't faint again.

I am also praying for my sanity because, excuse me but I can't just put wingdings in place this time; I am going to swear for real.

I am also praying for my sanity because SB's constant misfortunes are causing me to lose my fucking mind.  SB and neighbor Daphne thought it was pretty funny when I told SB that he can no longer be trusted at home alone and I would like to put him into an elderly daycare but I wasn't trying to be funny.  I was expressing my frustration for the escalation in his forgetfulness, distracted behavior, and breakdown in any ability to maintain a schedule. Tonight I called him repeatedly but he had forgotten that he had put his phone on silent mode three days ago, so all I had to go with was a message from him saying that he had cut himself really badly.  I called Daphne in tears, asking her to check on him.  She found him and he called me back to say that he was going to the hospital and would call me from the A&E except that he forgot and still had his phone on silent mode.

I'm thankful that the office was almost empty because I had to lay my head down at my desk and silently lose it for a few minutes before collecting myself and leaving to find him at whatever nearby hospital I thought he had gone to.  Good thing I found him, because he somehow forgot to mention his extreme aversion and reaction to needles to the staff and I can only imagine how that would have turned out.

One of his exes that I like (I only dislike the one) suggested that he may be depressed from the past year with his father dying of cancer and then losing his job because the company owner has the compassion of a gnat, and thus no company policy to deal with illness or bereavement.  She said that depression isn't always sadness but can manifest itself in selfish or odd behavior and distraction.  Not that I want him to be depressed, but it's a much more palatable alternative than my fears about dementia from too many head knocks.

Physically, he will recover in a few weeks, for which I am grateful.  I can only hope that we get his head on straight as well.

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